


What An Honor//What An Injustice

by PhenomenalWoman



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin is an angry crier, Anakin's Love Language is Touch, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives is a Good Bro, Concussions, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Miscommunication, Oh no there was only one sleeping bag, Rex's Love Language is Acts of Service, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Anakin Skywalker, anakin youre so dumb he likes you, fellas is it gay to give your general a kiss on the forehead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenomenalWoman/pseuds/PhenomenalWoman
Summary: There is a krayt dragon that lurks within Anakin's skin, and time and time again it demands attention. It demands to be seen and touched and loved in ways that it should not.His palms itch with the urge to touch. To feel skin against his skin in a way that isn’t meant to hurt. He’s always getting hurt now, whether it’s normal wear and tear in battles or if he’s going toe to toe with Ventress again and gets a kick to the face. Anakin just wants touch that doesn’t hurt.//Rex notices things. That’s his job.He notices the way that the general will lurk outside of the medbay, like a puppy kicked out of the dining hall, until the commander comes out. He notices the way that the general’s hands reach out, as if to touch and skim along whatever bodypart was hurt on his apprentice, only to retract at something she tells him.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 27
Kudos: 321





	What An Honor//What An Injustice

Anakin could feel it rising. He had tried so hard to be satisfied with what little he had been given, but it just wasn’t enough. Nothing is ever enough for him.

As he always is, Anakin is a black hole, an insatiable gravitational pulse that sucks up every amount of affection that someone has to offer and demands _more._ Anakin has always been a collapsing star at his core, and he has forever been doomed to take everyone down with him. 

There is a krayt dragon that lurks within his skin, and time and time again, it demands attention. It demands to be _seen_ and _touched_ and _loved_ in ways that it should not.

His palms _itch_ with the urge to touch. To feel skin against his skin in a way that isn’t meant to hurt. He’s always getting hurt now, whether it’s everyday wear and tear in battles or if he’s going toe to toe with Ventress again and gets a kick to the face. Anakin wants touch that doesn’t hurt. 

It has to be a product of how he was raised. Of how just a light touch of hands against your torso could be the difference between life or death. How many fellow slaves had Anakin’s mom saved all because she pressed her hands to their body to find out whether or not they had broken something? How many times had Anakin watched her reset a bone no one knew was broken and shoulder the extra work for them while they recovered?

How many times had Anakin done the same? 

It was something of a shock to arrive at the Jedi Temple and be surrounded by kids his age who didn’t seek out touch as he and all of his friends would do? Touch was the only constant in Anakin’s life up until that point. Even at times when he was separated from his mother, people would treat him as their own. Slaves had to look out for each other. 

But the temple kids were different. They shied away from his casual touches and giggled behind his back the first time he tried to hug someone goodbye who had no intention of returning the gesture. 

As “unconventional” as his master is, he is still a temple raised kid and carries a great deal of those sensibilities with him.

Anakin tries to be grateful for what Obi-Wan can give him - the occasional pat on the shoulder or even a hug when a mission has gone significantly to shit. Every single time Anakin _aches_ for more. 

It’s like a fire has been lit under Anakin’s skin every time, and it won’t be put out until his need for touch has been satiated. Time and time again, Anakin proves to be insatiable. The dragon under his skin refuses to be tamed.

Once, he made the mistake of seeking out Obi-Wan during one of these times. It had been just after Dooku took his arm, and one of the first things he did with his prosthetic was tinker with its touch receptors. 

It must have been his punishment, Anakin had figured. He was too attached to touch, and now it’s been taken away from him in one of his limbs. 

(Anakin remembers trying to hold Padmé’s hand after he first lost it and the way that she flinched. They were supposed to get married that weekend. Anakin left the next day. He couldn’t bear to take Padmé down with him, all because of his greed. She deserves better than him.)

He tried to test it on Obi-Wan, and as accommodating as his master is, this proved to be too much. 

At first, it was just polite side-steps or a subtle shake of a shoulder to get Anakin’s hand off. Of course, Anakin was too dense to notice when Obi-Wan was trying to be nice about it.

_“Anakin,”_ Obi-Wan says sharply. He pushes Anakin’s hand off of his forearm. 

Despite the fact that Anakin’s hand whirls with gears and is full of wires, all things distinctively not human, the phantom ache makes him shudder.

That night, Anakin had considered completely taking out his sensory receptors. Did he even deserve the touch he so desperately craved? All he had done with it so far is force it onto Obi-Wan. 

He didn’t. Out of his own greed, he couldn’t bring himself to disconnect the proper wires that would enable his hand cold and unfeeling. Anakin reasoned with himself that having sensory receptors could come in handy in the future. Maybe he would need it on a mission coming up. 

That wasn’t why Anakin kept the wires connected. No, he kept them attached out of his own selfish need for touch, touch that only ever earned him scorn and more hours of meditation.

_Attached,_ they call him. 

They’re right. Anakin _is_ attached. If he isn’t attached before the touch, however casual it might be, he is after it. It’s a bone-deep feeling of longing to any person unfortunate enough to lay their hands on him for more than a second. A sense of _maybe they’ll touch me again. Perhaps this time, they’ll hold on longer._ _Maybe… maybe… maybe…_

Anakin isn’t a very good Jedi. He isn’t a very good master either.

Just as he inflicts his own greed on Obi-Wan, he imposes it on his padawan. 

Ahsoka, Maker bless her, is as patient as she can be. She was more lenient with the touches at first, the shine of a new master - especially one with a reputation like The Hero With No Fear - blinding her to the reality of Anakin’s selfishness. When she was fourteen and still wearing the impractical tube top, she was easily pulled into hugs and allowed the casual touches. The worry of a new master, she had reasoned.

Now though, years later, Ahsoka is well-versed in the art of avoiding her master’s touch. She checks in with Kix after every mission, no matter how minor, because she knows her master will check over her with a fine-tooth comb if she doesn’t consult the medic first. She gives excuses of _Master, I’m really tired_ , and Anakin has no choice but to listen to them. He won’t allow his avarice to obstruct his padawan’s sleeping schedule. Force knows she doesn’t get as much sleep as she should be getting.

Anakin watches the clones and their easy camaraderie (they’re _brothers_ , of course, they have camaraderie) from afar. He feels almost envious and then, of course, feels guilty for feeling jealous. The clones were _made_ , quite literally, to follow orders for a war they had no say in. According to the Senate, they aren’t even _sentient,_ and Anakin envies them. They’ve always looked out for each other, with casual touches and the occasional way they just pile on top of each other after the most challenging missions. 

Anakin has seen it only once and immediately felt like an outsider. The way that they pushed every military bunk, devoid of mattresses, in the barracks so that they lined the walls. They lined every mattress, one next to another, so that it was just a mass bed that they could pile on top of.

He takes one look at it and immediately _yearns_ to be a part of it. However, like a coward, he turns and flees. 

Every atom in his body screams with the urge to turn back around, to force himself in the middle of the pile and pull whoever’s unlucky enough to be next to him as tight as he can.

Anakin sleeps in his bed alone that night, but he pulls every spare blanket and pillow he can find and morphs them into a vaguely human shape that he can press up against while he sleeps.

When he wakes, the krayt dragon’s greed is in full swing, but Anakin has become practiced in denying himself these things.

~

Rex notices things. That’s his job.

Particularly, he notices things about his general. In a completely professional manner. Things that any good captain would notice about their superior officer.

Like he notices the way that his nose scrunches when someone mentions a well-known sandy planet or the way that his face lights up when R2 beeps something in that tone that usually means he’s making fun of someone. Or the way that his eyelashes will flutter shut at even the barest hint of touch. 

Yes. Completely professional.

Rex notices other things too. 

He notices how the general will lurk outside of the medbay, like a puppy kicked out of the dining hall, until the commander comes out. He notices how the general’s hands reach out, as if to touch and skim along whatever bodypart was hurt on his apprentice, only to retract at something she tells him. 

Rex notices the way that hurt flashes across the Jedi’s face before he covers it with a joke, something to make the little commander laugh. 

Rex notices how Anakin will turn his fussing and mother-henning onto the shinies, who preen under the attention of their new general.

_“The general spent half an hour makin’ sure I was okay!”_ Any one of them will brag, floating on the high of their Jedi’s careful post battle inspection.

The more veteran brothers will laugh, perhaps a little wistfully, because they remember those days. The days that General Skywalker would pace outside the door, waiting for the first man to cross the threshold so that he could carefully inspect every new stitch or bacta patch. 

Rex remembers when that was him. He used to get, not special treatment, but more priority treatment. In the war’s chaos and unpredictability, he could always count on Anakin Skywalker to fuss over him after a battle. 

Truthfully, he liked it. He liked it a lot. Rex liked how his general seemed to go out of his way to ensure that his captain was in tip-top shape. 

It wasn’t like the inspection that the Kaminoans would give. They were clinical and cold and nothing at all like his Jedi. 

Anakin was soft touches and warm hands. He would take his glove off for inspections, something about superior sensory neurons, and although his hand was made of metal it was always warm. 

He stopped fussing over Rex so much when Ahsoka came around. Well, not exactly when Ahsoka came around. Maybe a little after, which was coincidentally when the commander would start going straight to Kix instead of enduring his master’s inspection first.

Rex isn’t upset about it. He understands the excitement over a shiny new toy.

Something just doesn’t seem to add up.

Not when you take into account the way that Anakin’s flesh hand always seems to twitch when he’s in close quarters with someone else, as though his hand has a string tied to it and the person who just walked past had yanked it. 

Rex watches his general practically run away from the open door of the barracks. He picks his head up off of Jesse’s thigh to watch the Jedi’s fading figure. 

A quick glance around tells him no one else has noticed the almost newcomer. They’re all in various stages of sleep, some deeper than others if the snores are anything to go by. 

If it weren’t for the way Kix is wrapped around his legs like an octopus, Rex would have ran out to pull his general in. 

But maybe… Rex thinks of how the general’s eyes flutter shut and his knees buckle at a more serious degree of touch. Maybe starting small and building to an invite to a post battle pile-up would be smarter.

Rex sets his head back down on Jessie’s thigh. He can start small.

~

Anakin can feel his brain rebooting. As if it’s a speeder stalling out, his brain has ceased to work all because Rex grabbed his hand.

“General?”

“Yeah?” The words come out airy and light, and if Anakin were in a better state of mind, he would be embarrassed, but all he can think about right now is how Rex’s hand isn’t in its glove and how his thumb glides across the back of his hand.

Rex’s lips quirk up, and in the back of Anakin’s head, he thinks about how Rex never smiles fully and shows his teeth, but his eyes turn… sad almost.

“Some of the boys wanted to know if you’d join us in the mess hall,” Rex repeats. “We’ve got a sabacc tournament going on.” 

Anakin narrows his eyes as the fog begins to clear in his head, “You just want to clean me out again,” He accuses. The last time he played against some of the 501st, every last chip he had (the good rations in this case) was in someone else’s hands. 

Rex’s face remains impassive, “I don’t know what you mean, sir. We just wanted to teach the commander how to play.”

“That’s banthashit,” Anakin counters swiftly, “Ahsoka knows how to play, and I know that because she already hustled me last week.” He still isn’t on speaking terms with Obi-Wan after he taught his padawan how to con like that.

The hand holding his squeezes, and Anakin feels his brain short out again. Rex still hasn’t let go. Why hasn’t he let go yet?

“Well, I suppose you can just sit and watch then.”

Anakin flushes, “I’m not much of a cheerleader,” He stammers and then immediately flushes _more_ at the visual of Anakin being a cheerleader for Rex.

Rex’s smile shifts into a smirk, “You aren’t much of a sabacc player, either,” He reminds him.

“Touche.”

Together, the two of them walk down the mess hall. Occasionally, the back of Rex’s hand will brush against Anakin’s. Anakin thinks he imagines it, but Rex’s fingers will extend each time the backs of their hands make contact and just barely tangle with Anakin’s before they retract. 

The krayt dragon that has been roaring under Anakin’s skin is quiet for the rest of the night and well into the next day.

~

_“Does anyone have eyes on the general?”_ Rex’s ducks and slashes. Adrenaline roars in his ears in the worst of ways, just as the lightsaber hums in his hands.

He had scooped it up without a second thought. Through the blaster fire and the bombs falling, there was no time to think about what the lightsaber, almost completely covered in dust by the time Rex came across it, with no general meant. 

But, Rex couldn’t think about that - he _wouldn’t_ think about that. His general drops his lightsaber all the time, he reasons, this is no different.

_“No, captain!”_

_“No eyes on the general,”_

_“Negative!”_

Rex feels his heart clench even though he doesn’t know why. This is war, and war doesn’t discriminate between the cannon fodder in the form of clones or the Jedi, even though Rex secretly thinks it should. 

Should his general have fallen, the 501st will share a toast to him and say the Mandalorian prayer for the recently departed, one that is becoming far too familiar. Perhaps when Rex finds a dark corner, he’ll allow himself to shed a few tears, but until that time comes, Rex will continue as though Anakin Skywalker is still alive.

“No one has eyes on the general?” Rex repeats, twisting with a grunt as he slices through a droid like butter.

_“I think I see ’im, sir! I see his - no is that… Captain, is that you?”_

Rex slashes again, slicing a battle droid in half before it can even finish yelling. “Someone get me eyes on Skywalker!” 

The lightsaber thrums in his hands, like a tooka purring. It almost seems to lead his hands, leading him through graceful twirls and slices. 

Rex doesn’t want it. Rex wants to see his Jedi holding this damn lightsaber with that dumb grin of his. He just wants to know if Anakin is okay.

The lightsaber yanks at his hands, and he lets himself be pulled into a downward slice through a B2 droid. He twists the lightsaber into a backhand grip, just like the commander does, and drives it into the chest of a droid coming up behind him. 

_“Fuck!”_ Rex shouts to himself. He hates that the lightsaber is a close combat weapon - not at all like his blasters. How do Jedi just stand there in battle and let the droids come to them?

Rex rips one of his blasters from his holster. He can see the tell-tale green glow of the commander’s lightsabers up ahead. He slices through another droid and shoots down another approaching, and takes off towards the commander. 

~

Anakin is a deadman. He’s done for. He almost hopes that some droid will take him out just so that Obi-Wan doesn’t get the pleasure. His master will surely take some sadistic pleasure in knowing that Anakin died from not heeding his warning. 

“This weapon is your life, Anakin,” Anakin mocks under his breath, firing off three quick shots with the blaster he had picked up. 

Of course, his comm got busted too sometime during the battle, probably in the blowback from the explosion he was caught up in, which is probably when he lost his lightsaber to think about it. 

_Where even is he?_ There’s no trooper in sight, only the droids that have fallen from the primary battle and become stragglers, much like Anakin has. His ears rang, and his head pounds in what is undoubtedly a concussion. He can feel a clump of hair that’s been matted down by blood.

_Griff,_ he thinks as he guns down another two droids, _Where is everyone?_

He throws a hand out, clenching his fist and crushing the two droids in his path even though they aren’t as compact as they usually are when Anakin crushes droids. He blames it on the concussion and not the worry pounding in his chest.

The buzz of a lightsaber sounds through the air. _Ahsoka!_

Anakin loses his footing only a few times on the hill’s gravel as he pulls himself up. If the top of the hill has a good enough vantage point, Anakin can probably act as a sniper just until the end of the battle and pick off droid after droid.

He finally reaches the top of the hill, and he almost chokes on his tongue.

It’s not Ahsoka.

Well, it is, but she isn’t who Anakin is looking at. 

Not when Rex is wielding his lightsaber like he was meant to it. The saber’s movement in his hands is all instinct and no grace, yet Anakin thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

Anakin can feel some portion of his brain, where he knows to be the connection between him and the kyber crystal in his saber, hum in contentment.

The blaster in his hand drops limply to his side. Anakin would surely be an easy target if anyone would think to look up here. Yet, no one does, so Anakin has free reign to stare.

His breath hitches, and his face flushes as Rex shifts the lightsaber so effortlessly into Ahsoka’s favored backhanded grip to plunge it into the chest plate of a droid behind him, all without looking. 

Anakin feels his face _burn_ at the display of raw prowess. It only worsens as Rex pulls out his blaster and becomes a one-man wrecking crew as he fights to get closer to Ahsoka, who is slowly getting overwhelmed with battle droids. 

The sight of his padawan in danger spurs Anakin into action. He hefts the blaster back up and begins picking off droids one by one. The gun isn’t the best for long-range shooting like this, but Anakin lets the Force guide his hands and trusts that the blaster will hit its mark.

Anakin shifts from clearing a path between Rex and Ahsoka to shooting down droids that get too close to Ahsoka’s blind spots.

He tries to stay focused on the task ahead of him, keeping his padawan and his captain safe. Still, his mind continues to drift to the fact that Rex’s hand - and the fact that Anakin knows firsthand how gentle Rex’s hands can be despite being capable of such destruction does _not_ make this easier - is wrapped around the hilt of his lightsaber. 

The battle ends in a Separatist retreat. Anakin stays at the top of the hill, remaining a vigilant guard until the last droid vanishes from the battlefield, despite the way that his knees tremble with the effort of keeping him upright as the adrenaline fades and the way his head _pounds_.

Yet even with the fading adrenaline sending his body headfirst into exhaustion, he notices how Rex climbs up the hill to approach him. Anakin thinks he’ll _always_ notice Rex.

“General?” 

Anakin hums in acknowledgment. If he takes his eyes off the site ahead of him to look at Rex, he’ll never be able to focus again if they need him.

“General, it’s over. You can come down now,” Rex’s voice is closer than before, and if Anakin were to shift his eyeline just so, he could see Rex take his helmet off to tuck it underneath his arm against his hip. He’d also be able to see the way his lightsaber is clipped to his utility belt like it belongs there.

But Anakin does not look, so he does not see, which is good because if he did look, he’d never be able to tear his eyes away.

“Anakin,” A hand cups his elbow, and Anakin’s vision blacks out, “We need to go. That head wound looks nasty,” 

The blaster drops from his hands, but Rex’s reflexes are too quick to let it hit the ground. The trooper bends down to set the gun on the ground and slides his hands up Anakin’s arms as he straightens out. 

Anakin’s knees turn coltish as he begins to wobble in Rex’s grip. His skin buzzes pleasantly, not at all like the burn that had been rebuilding since that night he watched the men play sabacc. 

One of Rex’s hands stays planted on Anakin’s shoulder while the other continues upwards to inspect the sluggishly bleeding wound on the back of his head. Fingers push through matted curly hair and make Anakin’s eyes flutter shut. He pitches forward and collapses into Rex’s hard chest plate. 

“I got you, Anakin,” Rex’s low voice whispers in his ear. The hand at the back of his head slips down to wrap around his waist. With baby steps, and Rex supporting a majority of Anakin’s weight, the two of them shuffle down the gravelly hill to where the rest of the troops are waiting.

“Master!” Ahsoka trips over her feet in her rush to approach them. She stops just short of colliding with the two of them, which Rex is grateful for but Anakin’s body shifts towards her like a flower in the sun as though he expected some type of contact. 

Rex subtly readjusts the weight before Ahsoka can notice, “He’s alright. Probably concussion. Most definitely exhausted. Where’s Kix?” 

“In the med tent,” Ahsoka reports dutifully, tossing a glance over her shoulder where troopers are milling about said tent in various stages of undress. Most of them took off the armor from the waist up, leaving them in just their blacks and whatever bacta patch or cold compress Kix has smacked them with.

“Alright,” Rex takes a few steps forward, spurring Anakin into motion - however clunky. “Let’s go see Kix, General,”

Anakin’s nod is sluggish against Rex’s shoulders, “Gotta check on the men,” he agrees as if he isn’t bleeding out the back of his head. 

The final steps to the tent have Rex practically carrying the general seeing as the jedi’s feet suddenly decide to stop working. 

“Rex, you’ve got the - what he’d do now?” Kix’s face morphs from neutral to disapproving in record time. He helps Rex ease Anakin’s body into the closest chair.

“Possible concussion,” Rex repeats, “Head wound, but nothing fatal it looks like.” 

Kix jabs a hypo into the general’s neck, “Hear that, General?” He steps around to inspect the back of the general’s head. He isn’t super pleased by what he sees if his face is anything to go off of, “You’ll be back in action in no time. Back to making my job ten times _kriffing harder,_ ” the last sentence is said mainly to himself as Kix straightens up. “Keep him awake,” he orders, “I’ll be back.”

Rex stares after the medic quickly retreating into another part of the tent. It suddenly feels too small in this confined space with how Anakin keeps looking at him.

Anakin blinks sluggishly, once. Twice. Three times, and this one seems to be the one that finally keeps his eyes shut.

“Your lightsaber!” Rex blurts out in an attempt to keep him awake. His face flushes at how loud his voice sounds in the tent but it seems to do the trick because Anakin’s eyes focus just a tad before dropping to his belt and-

_Oh, no, Rex does_ not _want him looking at the lightsaber dangling on his belt because the lightsaber is right next to his crotch._ Rex really doesn’t need to imagine his general staring at his crotch, even though now he thinks he always will when he finds a little alone time.

Rex unhooks the lightsaber and holds it out to save himself any further embarrassment, but Anakin just shakes his head.

“Keep it,” He slurs, “It likes you, I can tell.” His eyes begin to droop shut again.

“It likes me?” Rex prompts, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of the need to keep Anakin’s eyes open.

Anakin nods, “It likes you,” he repeats, “It… it sings when you’re holding it. Could feel it in my head,” 

Right. _Jetti osik._

Still, something lingers in his head. Given the fact that Anakin has lost his lightsaber many, many times, he’s heard quite a few speeches from General Kenobi. _Rex_ has heard several speeches from General Kenobi just because he’s had the misfortune of being in the room when the two start bickering. 

_This weapon is your life,_ General Kenobi would stress, sometimes multiple times. When he said it, it never sounded like an exaggeration and Anakin never took it as such. Every time Kenobi repeated that phrase, Anakin would flush and nod before snatching the lightsaber back from whoever was lucky enough to find it. 

So, Rex, quite literally, has Anakin’s life hanging from his belt. Great.

“Well, I’ll hold onto it for you then,” Rex finally says, dropping one hand to hang next to the saber. 

Anakin’s grin is crooked, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to,” He says much too earnestly. 

It’s been stated before that Rex notices things. He’s very good at it, seeing as how he’s been literally bred to do that. So it goes without saying that he notices how Anakin shifts closer to him. 

It isn’t much of a hardship to drop into the seat next to him and press himself flush, shoulder to shoulder, with Anakin. 

Anakin’s head drops onto his shoulder, regardless of the hard plastoid covering it. “I don’t like this,” He murmurs.

“Don’t like what?” Rex asks, hand reaching out to brush off dust and residue from the explosion he was caught in from Anakin’s robes.

“You takin’ care of me,” Anakin’s answer is muffled as he turns his head into Rex’s chest, but it still makes Rex’s heart freeze.

He doesn’t like Rex taking care of him? Is he doing a bad job? Where’s Kix? Kix will know what-

“It’s my job to take care of you,” Anakin continues, voice much clearer now. “All- all of you, I mean. Take care of all of you. The men. And Ahsoka.”

Rex’s lips quirk up, “It’s alright, General,”

Anakin makes a low noise of discomfort.

“Anakin,” Rex amends, “It’s alright, Anakin. We can switch off just this once, I think.” 

“Okay,” Anakin agrees quickly, “But next time it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Kix comes in before Rex can respond. Rex doesn’t think he’d have a response to that anyways.

~

_Next time_ comes in the form of snow and ice and misery. 

“Remind me how this happened again?” Anakin chatters against the back wall of the cave they had sequestered themselves in. Rex can barely see his face with the thick fur of his jacket in the way.

Even though he looks _stupidly_ endearing in his Republic-issued snow suit, Rex hopes he never has to see it again. He never wants to even _hear_ about snow again.

“You crashed the ship.”

“Ah,” Anakin’s already pink face turns pinker, “Right.” 

Rex’s smirk can’t be seen from behind his helmet, but he likes to think Anakin knows that it’s there. He shifts uncomfortable, his backpack pressing into his spine from how it’s - _his backpack!_

Rex’s numb hands reach around to pull it off of his back and, with fingers he can’t even feel, he rips it open and begins tearing through it.

“What are you doing?” Anakin’s voice is shaky with the shiver that wracks through his body mid sentence.

Rex continues flinging things out of the bag, “I should have a sleeping bag in here,” Rex grunts out, pulling his legs into his chest as much as he can without having to reposition the bag in his lap. 

When his hands finally pull out the sleeping bag, his cry of victory sounds as though they’ve just won the war.

“Oh, good,” Anakin inches his body forward, looking as though every movement pains him, “You sleep first, I’ll take first watch,” He rubs his gloved hands together, oblivious of the way Rex’s helmet turns to face him, “I’ve got my tracking beacon still going, so it shouldn’t be long until someone comes to find us. I’ll wake you up in-”

“Take off your clothes.”

Anakin chokes. _“What?”_

Rex flushes, words finally catching up to him, _“No!_ I mean, um,” he flounders for words before finally deciding on, “Body heat!”

Anakin’s eyes, from behind his snow goggles, flicker between the sleeping back and Rex. “Body heat?” He repeats dubiously. 

“We can both use the sleeping bag,” Rex continues, silently thanking every higher power that must be watching over him for the way he keeps his voice steady, “And retain body heat. We… we’ll just have to....” _Kriff,_ how can he say this to his general and be able to look him in the eyes again? Rex will just keep his bucket on for the rest of the war. Either he’ll die or the war will end and he’ll never have to make eye contact with Anakin again, one or the other.

“Get naked and cuddle?” Anakin fills in.

Rex flushes, “Uhm, yes sir,”

Anakin groans and shuffles off of the wall. His hands start unzipping his jacket, “Don’t call me _sir,_ Rex. We’re about to go tip to tip under a sleeping bag,”

_“Youdon’thavetotakeoff-”_

Anakin saves Rex the mortification of finishing that sentence by cutting him off, “I’m just messing with you,” He states as he pulls the hood off of his head.

Rex almost thinks he’d prefer it back on. At least that way he wouldn’t have to look Anakin in the eye and pretend he doesn’t want to kiss the _kark_ out of him when they’re about to cuddle. 

They undress in silence, save for the occasional chattering of teeth or curse, before just _standing there._ Looking.

Rex feels his face flush at the sight of his general in just his briefs and blames it entirely on the cold. Anakin is all hard muscle and sharp angles and it would make Rex sweat if not for the sub zero temperatures in the cave. He’s glad his helmet is heat regulated, or else this situation would be even more mortifying.

He knows, distantly, that the general is observing him as well. Rex is sure Anakin isn’t impressed by much. It’s the same body as millions of other soldiers, save for the pale scar right in the middle of his chest, like a sunburst. 

“Are you keeping your helmet on?” Anakin finally asks, inching closer and closer to the sleeping bag. 

“It’s self-regulating,” Rex replies dumbly, still caught up in watching his general’s abdominal muscles tense with the cold.

Anakin curses under his breath before finally diving into the sleeping bag, groaning once he’s in it fully. 

From Rex’s angle he can see the indent of Anakin’s legs through the bag and how he has to bend them slightly to fit under. The lip of the bag is tucked underneath his chin and Rex doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more endearing.

“Get in, Rex, I’m cold just looking at you,” Anakin’s command isn’t as effective as it should be, not with the way that his teeth clatter together, but Rex is helpless to follow.

Rex slides in the bag, careful to keep as much distance as he can in the little space the sleeping bag allows.

Anakin’s face twists almost painfully. The fingers on his flesh hand extend towards Rex, just minutely, before clenching into a tight fist. His whole body shudders in a way that isn’t cold-related at all. 

_Oh._

Rex scoots closer, just an inch or two, before Anakin shudders again and Rex just throws his arms around the other man.

It’s instantaneous the way that Anakin sinks into the other man’s chest. The pained look, not that Rex can see it with the way that Anakin hides his face in his neck as best he can without hitting the helmet, disappears from his face and his flesh hand digs into his back.

It’s been established that Rex notices things by now. Not to be arrogant, but Rex thinks he’s pretty good at it. So, Rex notices the way that the skin connected to Anakin’s prosthetic has turned an ugly shade of purple.

“Kriff, Anakin,” Rex mutters and wriggles his arms up to take off his helmet. He blows hot air into the palms of his hands before gently cupping the purpling skin.

Anakin hisses and jerks back, but Rex doesn’t let him get far.

“How long has this been hurting?” Rex asks, twisting his hands as softly as he can around the appendage to transfer as much heat as possible. The metal is so cold against Rex’s hands it _burns,_ he can’t even imagine what Anakin is feeling.

Anakin laughs without humor, “Since Geonosis.”

Rex frowns. Geonosis? How could Anakin go that long without saying anything if he was in pain? 

Anakin borrows deeper into his chest before Rex can say anything, “Force,” He groans, “You’re like a furnace,”

Rex shifts to sling his leg across Anakin’s hip. It’s too cold for Rex to do anything other than think about getting hard, which Rex is secretly grateful for because popping a stiffy would be the only way to make this situation worse.

“Didn’t you grow up in a desert?” Rex asks, winding his arms around Anakin’s torso but still keeping the metal appendage tucked between their chests, “Why are you so cold?” 

Anakin scoffs, “You mean eleven years ago?”

“That sounds like an excuse to me, Sir,” Rex replies. The hand that rests low on Anakin’s back starts rubbing slow circles into the skin, and Rex smiles at the way Anakin sinks even more into his embrace.

He would feel guilty about taking advantage of his general like this, of exploiting the possible hypothermia the two of them may face just so that he can touch his general in a very nonprofessional manner, if he didn’t know that Anakin wanted - no, _needed_ \- this as much as he did.

“Well, you’re warm enough for the both of us,” Anakin mumbles into his chest, lips brushing against the scar tissue between Rex’s pectorals in a way that makes him shiver, “Good thing too. We’d both freeze to death if it were up to me to keep us warm, apparently.”

Rex makes a noise of consideration, “I don’t know, you’re warming me up pretty well, if I say so myself,”

“Yeah?”

Rex nods, his chin brushing the icicle-decorated mop of hair atop his general’s head, “Yeah,” He assures, “I’ve never…” Rex pauses. Will this be too far? Can _anything_ be too far at this point? The two of them are in nothing but their briefs so close to another that air can’t even get through. “I’ve never felt so warm in my life,” He finishes honestly. 

Anakin is silent long enough that Rex thinks he might have made a mistake. Has he been reading all of these signs wrong? Maybe the general just wants touch, any touch and not specifically Rex’s. 

“I’ve…” Anakin pulls his head back from Rex’s chest, and Rex is relieved to see that his lips are losing the blue tint they’ve taken on since being stuck in the cave, “I’ve never felt this warm, either.” 

“Can I ask you something?” The words tumble from Rex’s lips before he can stop them.

“Always.”

Rex’s mouth opens with words that are now trapped in his throat. He shifts in the bag and rests more of his weight on Anakin and hopes to whoever is listening that he isn’t crushing him. “Why do you… why do you always wait outside the med tent to check us all over? You don’t think Kix is doing a bad job.” The last part isn’t a question. He knows Anakin well enough to know that he would never doubt the efficiency of any of his men, especially not Kix.

Anakin is silent long enough for Rex to think he’s overstepped. The hands digging into his side and back tighten momentarily before relaxing. 

“You don’t have to-”

“You know I grew up on Tatooine,” Anakin interjects. His breath is hot against Rex’s skin and it makes him dizzy.

Rex nods and makes sure to dip his chin against Anakin’s head so that he can feel the movement.

“My mom and I were both slaves. The Jedi freed me when I was nine, but until then my mom and I worked for a Toydarian that kept us at his junk shop. I podraced for him whenever times were tough, and he usually wasn’t too cruel to us. But sometimes he’d get angry,” Anakin’s words lack all his usual passion. They come out hollow and as cold as the world outside their sleeping bag. “He’d take his anger out on my mom more than me. I was more valuable to them than she was. The older slaves taught me how to check her over. The first night they did, they found out she had fractured ribs. They had to bind her up with these shitty rags. If they hadn’t checked my mom over she probably would have died.”

Rex’s heart _aches._ Before he can talk himself out of it, he tucks his chin into his chest and ducks low to drop a kiss to the top of Anakin’s head. The hands on his body dig in momentarily before relaxing again.

“We had to take care of each other,” Anakin continues, voice thick. Something wet drops on Rex’s chest, but he doesn’t know if it’s a tear or water dripping from Anakin’s hair. “Usually it was just one pass over ribs or a few squeezes between life and death. We didn’t exactly get sick days.” The joke doesn’t land like Anakin probably hoped it would. “And I trust Kix. With my life. With Ahsoka’s and your’s. But I just… If anything happened to any one of you while I could have prevented it…” 

Rex squeezes his Jedi tighter when he doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Rex murmurs into Anakin’s hair.

Anakin falls asleep quickly after that. He tucks his head back onto Rex’s chest, ear directly over Rex’s heart, and falls asleep within minutes. 

Rex, on the other hand, stays awake. He cranes his neck as much as he can without disrupting Anakin, although he knows from experience that the man sleeps like the dead, and just _looks._

He can’t see much of Anakin since the two of them are buried deep into the sleeping bag and Anakin’s face is tucked firmly into his chest, but Rex still likes to look. 

Anakin’s forehead, usually wrinkled in anger or determination or any other emotion you can think of that comes with war, is smooth. He looks young, too young to be craving touch the way he is and too young to be pulled into war the way he has.

Rex knows he’s young too, technically 10, but that isn’t the point.

Anakin is organic, in more than just the way he was born. He lives life with his heart on his sleeve and Rex is in awe of him daily. How can he not be? In the crazy world of war and destruction that Rex has found himself at home in, Anakin has always been a constant. 

His determination, his loyalty, his bright smile on even the darkest of days. His skimming touch after even the easiest of campaigns on even the newest of shinies. No soldier goes unchecked by the general in the 501st. 

Rex will always be continually in awe of the man in front of him.

Rex falls asleep with his arms wrapped tight around Anakin, and despite the cold it’s the best he’s ever slept.

~

Anakin is fine, really. Yeah, he’s okay. It’s just… a lot.

He wishes the galaxy could give him a break, just a moment or two to process the fact that he had fallen asleep, pressed chest to chest with Rex, before it became nothing more than a distant memory.

(Anakin thinks about that just about every night, when he curls up on an empty bed, that really isn’t big enough for two grown men but Anakin still wants to try. Then he feels guilty about thinking about it. He never should have taken advantage of Rex like that.)

But the galaxy has never been very kind to Anakin, because soon enough he’s… well, he’s lost his padawan. 

He watches Ahsoka disappear down the Temple steps, hand clenched so tight around the padawan beads she had given to him that it starts to hurt. 

He’s going to puke. He’s going to cry. He’s going to have a breakdown. He’s… he’s not going to do any of that.

Anakin pockets the beads and acts as though his world hasn’t come crashing around him. He doesn’t think about how he’s going to tell the 501st, except that he does and he exhausts all options and doesn’t see how any of his men will ever forgive him. 

Anakin sits on the couch in his apartment and pretends that he doesn’t see evidence of Ahsoka’s existence littered around the floor and counters. 

Pretends that the greedy krayt dragon in his chest isn’t roaring for a touch that will never come.

The men take the news as best as one can hope. There is a sullen silence that spreads across the battalion, from the oldest to the newest shiny. Ahsoka impacted every single one of them, their own little _vod’ika_ , in ways that Anakin didn’t.

He understands that.

Anakin keeps the beads she had closed his hand around in a little box that he’ll probably have until he dies or she comes back. One of them seems more likely than the others. 

He lies in bed at night, alone like always, and pretends that he doesn’t miss the grounding weight of Rex that tamed the dragon under his skin. He pretends that he won’t wake up padawanless. 

Anakin has never been the best at pretending.

The first battle after Ahsoka leaves is a reality check. Even though Anakin should have gotten used to being the only Jedi again, he finds himself looking for twin green glows and orange skin. He finds himself waiting outside the med tent and being surprised when every person who comes out isn’t her. 

He still checks each man over, even more reverently than he used to do before. Each of these men are a blessing to Anakin. 

Rex steps through the med tent last, as he always does. The sight of him both wakes and quiets the humming beneath his skin. He steps closer to Anakin, accepting his usual fate already.

Anakin’s hands pass over him gently, pressing against his ribs and skimming down his arms. His hands drift, in a way that they don’t with any other trooper, to tangle his fingers with Rex’s. 

They just stand there, staring at each other. Anakin knows that his face is a mess of emotions and unasked questions but Rex’s is impassive like it always is. 

“It’s weird,” Rex finally says, voice tight.

Anakin doesn’t say anything.

“Not having the commander around,” Rex clarifies as though Anakin hasn’t been thinking that exact thought since her figure disappeared down the steps. 

The knife that was shoved into Anakin’s heart the day of Ahsoka’ trial twists violently. He drops Rex’s hand without meaning to but the other man makes no move to grab it again.

But it’s the closest to a confession Anakin will ever get from Rex. The man keeps his feelings close to his chest, especially when it comes to things regarding the war (which is everything about him, Anakin reminds himself. Rex was _made_ for this war, made for Anakin, and it isn’t fair).

“Everyday I wake up,” Anakin begins just as Rex’s face shutters with some emotion that Anakin can’t place, “And I expect to see her there. And she’s not. But… but every night I close my eyes thinking _maybe tomorrow will be different_. And it never is.” A hand closes around his again, bare skin against his own which means that Rex took off his gloves, and Anakin shudders. “It never is and I want it to be so bad,” 

Anakin feels his face crumple up like discarded flimsi. The knife twists again and the dragon roars in agony. He wants it all _gone._

“And I just want to tell her that I’m sorry. I should’ve fought harder, I should’ve gone with her. And there’s this buzzing-” Anakin stops short. 

Look at him ramble on. He’s taken something that Rex trusted him with and forced it into his own sorrows. As always, he continues to push his burdens onto Rex, and Rex bears it with nothing more than a soft squeeze to the hand he holds.

“What buzzing?” Rex asks, voice gentle in a way that Anakin does not deserve. 

Anakin doesn’t deserve a lot of things about Rex. He didn’t deserve the way Rex held him, all those weeks ago on that snowy planet, as if nothing could touch the two of them as long as they stayed pressed tight underneath that sleeping bag. He doesn’t deserve the way that Rex holds his hand, soft and reverent like Anakin is made of precious material. 

“What buzzing?” Rex asks again.

Anakin shakes his head. _No,_ the buzzing is Anakin’s burden to bear. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll… I’ll get out of your hair, Rex. You’re all good,” He squeezes Rex’s hand before letting go.

Well, he tries to let go. 

Rex snatches his hand before there’s even an inch of space between their fingers, “Sir- Anakin, do you want to sleep in the barracks tonight?” He averts his eyes as he says it, as though he regrets the offer as soon as the words leave his mouth, “The men… we - we usually all pile up on a bunch of mattresses after battles like these. Helps us all sleep at night. I… we want you to join.” 

And Anakin _aches._ He wants to say yes. He wants to wake up surrounded by people he loves and trusts; he wants to know what it’s like to sleep through the night with no nightmares. Would Rex carve out a spot right next to him in the pile? Would they wake up the way they had in that sleeping bag - pressed so tightly to one another that no air could get through? The dragon in his chest screams with want and greed and all things Anakin can’t have.

“No, no, that’s okay, Rex,” He finds himself saying, even as every bone in his body screams in frustration. He doesn’t need pity from anyone, especially not Rex. How pathetic his captain must think him - sleeping alone in quarters built for two all because he doesn’t have the guts to clean out Ahsoka’s stuff. “You boys enjoy your night,” He slips his hand through Rex’s and walks away. 

Anakin pretends the knife in his heart doesn’t push deeper, doesn’t make a jagged cut right down the center, and walks away with a flimsi-thin smile on his face.

The memories of what he used to have are enough to satisfy him for now.

~

Rex walks back to the barracks alone. Before he even steps foot through the door, he can hear the commotion of his brothers. They’re alight with the excitement of a newcomer, their general no less. Playful bickering echoes through the room, along with the occasional _whumpf_ of a pillow hitting a body, that immediately silences when Rex walks in. Alone.

Fives’ smile slides off his face. He had been the most excited when Rex brought up the idea. “Where’s the general?” The pillow falls from his hand.

Rex shakes his head and begins mechanically pulling off his armor, “Not coming.” 

There’s a small wave of chatter through the room until one trooper calls out, “Why?”

Well, that’s a good question. Rex doesn’t know why. He’d been so sure Anakin would come. Rex doesn’t need to be a Jedi to see how Anakin yearns for any type of touch. He remembers seeing how Anakin practically ran away when he had stumbled across their dogpile however many months ago.

“I don’t know,” Rex finally says once the last piece of armor is off. He settles onto the mattresses, feeling heavier than he did a few moments ago. The spot next to him, filled up quickly by Jesse, feels wrong. Like it belongs to someone else.

Rex doesn’t dwell on it long. He can’t, not with the way that Fives flops across him, jabbing every sharp joint imaginable into Rex’s soft spots with unerring accuracy. 

(Rex waits until every man, down to the last shiny, falls asleep in the pile to begin dwelling. He’ll try again.)

~

Rex starts small again. It worked well the first time. The gradual build up of affection and tension, while a Herculean test for his patience, was well worth it for Rex to see the blush creeping up Anakin’s cheeks.

Rex will be able to coax Anakin into a post-battle pile up within the cycle with any luck. He thinks he would have been able to convince Anakin the first night he asked, had it not been for the impromptu cuddling in a cave. 

Anakin, Rex has come to learn, is like a data processor. You can’t give him too much at one time, or else he’ll malfunction. Rex overloaded him with touch, out of necessity in that cold cave, and when faced with all that affection, Anakin defaulted in an initial state of isolation.

So, with no immediate mission in sight for the first time in months, Rex paces himself.

He changes his strict routine first. He switches his usual schedule around until he and Anakin find themselves at the mess hall at the same time. Usually, Rex would already have eaten and had three cups of caf by the time the general even steps foot in the mess hall, but that was when Anakin still had the commander at his side. 

These days, Anakin moves just a hint slower, as though he feels heavy down to his very bones. 

He’s older than he should be, Rex realizes. Nat borns age differently than clones do, he understands, but Anakin is in a league all of his own. He’s on the younger side of the rest of the generals in the war, probably around the age that a commander should be, but everything about him seems _ancient._

His eyes, light and full of love, have seen too much. 

Rex’s hands move in a well-practiced dance across the caf station. He pulls down two mugs, a standard gray and a faded orange with various types of flowers etched around the rim and down the handle. Anakin has never said anything, but Rex has seen how he treats the mug more as though it is more precious than even his lightsaber. 

“You better not be using my mug, Rex,” 

Rex’s lips quirk up. Right on time. “Of course not, sir,” He pours caf into Anakin’s mug first, topping it off with entirely too much sugar that he knows his general loves, and pushes it into his Jedi’s hands. 

He ignores the incredulous look that Anakin gives him and pours his own caf.

“Are you running late for something?” Anakin’s skepticism is diminished slightly by the sigh of relief at the taste of his caf. “You’re usually doing… something else by now.”

Rex delays his answer by taking a sip. Will Anakin accept a vague answer? Usually, his Jedi isn’t precisely what one would call “functioning” this early in the morning, but he seems hyper-aware of Rex’s every move this morning.

“No,” He finally responds, “Just wanted to spend some time with you.” It’s through sheer force of will that he doesn’t blush at his own candor. 

“Oh.”

They stand in companionable silence, each of them taking sips from their caf mugs and pretending they don’t see the other sneaking looks when they think they can go unnoticed. It’s going well, too, Rex thinks. He does his best not to make it obvious, but he sees how Anakin shifts ever so slowly closer to him. 

They’re _so close_ to touching - their fingertips just millimeters apart when- 

“Captain!” At the sound of Fives’ voice, the distance slowly closing between the two of them becomes immense. “I never see you here this early. Aren’t you usually whipping the shinies’ butts on the training mat by now?” 

And Rex, maker help him, could wring Fives’ neck. He sees the way Anakin sets down his mug even though it’s still half full and doesn’t seem inclined to pick it back up again. “Fives.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Anakin stares at the tile under his feet, face stone cold in a way that makes Rex’s heart clench. “You don’t have to do all this stuff for me,” He says lowly, voice sharp like it never is with Rex. 

“Anakin, I-”

“I’m not a charity case,” Anakin finally looks Rex in the eyes, and Rex has been around long enough to know that his Jedi isn’t angry. He’s sad - absolutely devastated. “I know you all _pity me_. You’ve been walking on eggshells ever since Ahsoka left, but I think I liked that more than you treating me like a child.” He pushes away from the counter, seconds from storming off when Rex lunges forward to snatch his wrist.

“You’re not a charity case,” The words tumble from his lips, too loud to be appropriate for this type of conversation in a public place. “I know you aren’t. I didn’t… I’m sorry if I came across that way, I just…” Words that were once eager to leave his lips now escape him. What is Rex supposed to say? Somehow, despite all of his planning, Rex didn’t think he would make it this far.

“You just _what,_ Rex? I know it’s been you doing all the paperwork I’m supposed to. And I know you’ve been stashing the ration bar flavor I like so that no one else eats them. _Why?_ You don’t need to do all this shit for me. You’re my captain, not my maid.” 

Rex has been trained for a lot of things in this world - emergency field medicine, how to dispatch an entire squadron of droids with nothing but the armor on his back, how to keep up with a Jedi on a battlefield. But nothing prepared him for this. 

Nothing prepared him for the sickly feeling that spreads through his chest at the general’s words, like a bad batch of bacta injected right into his bloodstream. Or for the way that his cheeks burn in humiliation under the intense gaze of his commanding officer and the men around them.

Maybe Rex was reading this all wrong? Maybe the general never wanted his affection, only attention. 

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Rex finally says, the quiet words falling from numb lips. “I don’t…” His fists clench at his sides, “I like doing those things for you. I like… I like you, too.” 

Anakin doesn’t say anything. He just _stares._ The crease between his eyebrow deepens at whatever thoughts he must be having - thoughts of disgust, no doubt. Why would someone like _Anakin_ , some pure and good and never meant to be put in a war like this, ever stoop so low as to have feelings for Rex? A clone, with millions of people with his face, that was only created for two things - to kill and be killed. 

Rex opens his mouth to say something before snapping it shut. His humiliation is already too great to bear. If Rex says something else he might never recover. He spins on his heel and flees from the mess hall, thoughts of requesting a transfer from Cody already racing through his head.

Maybe if he messages Cody quick enough, he can schedule the transfer before he has to look the general in the eyes again. 

~

Anakin is… Anakin is stupid. He’s always known. When it comes to things like mechanics and ships and lightsabers, he’ll usually be the smartest person in the room, but anything else? He’s a fish out of water.

Anakin has never made a mistake so huge, he thinks as he watches Rex disappear. Nothing he’s ever done has ever left him with a pit in his stomach the size of a Venator.

_I like you, too,_ the words echo through his head, but not how Anakin always fantasized they would. In his fantasies, the words would be joyful and more often than not followed by a kiss. The way Rex said it was… nothing like that at all. No words in any language Anakin knows can describe the shattered expression that flicked across Rex’s face before vanishing behind a wall of duracrete. 

It never really crossed Anakin’s mind that Rex would _actually_ like him. He always thought that when Rex stocked up his favorite flavor of ration bar so that no one else could eat them, or when he brought back a droid part from the battlefield that looked interesting so that Anakin could have a look at it, that Rex was just being a good captain. 

When Anakin would lay his head down for sleep that night, he fantasized that, in a kinder world, Rex was actually trying to court Anakin. It sounds dumb, and Anakin shudders just thinking about it, but it made the nights a little easier and the buzzing beneath his skin a little quieter to imagine that Rex was giving Anakin gifts to show his affection. 

_I like doing those things for you._

“Are you gonna go after him?” 

Anakin’s head snaps to Fives, who levels him with an unimpressed look.

“Or are you gonna keep standing there?” Fives jingles a pouch of credits, “I’ve been betting on you two to get together for three months now.” 

_(Later, Fives will get yelled at for letting Anakin in on the bet._

_“C’mon, guys,” Fives will begin, “They were never gonna get their heads out of their asses otherwise.”_

_And Fives will be right, the rest of the men will realize, even though they grumble as they fork over credits._

_“I really have to do everything myself around here,” Fives will mumble as he pockets his hard won cash.)_

Anakin nods dumbly, “Right,” He says mainly to himself as he stumbles after Rex.

His feet follow the feeling of _anguish_ and _heartbreak_ that clouds the Force. Anakin runs a little faster. How upset must Rex be if he’s stopped shielding? 

He nearly crashes into the barracks, where Rex is stuffing spare blacks and little trinkets that the Senate says clones should not be allowed, even though no one listens to them, into a bag. A datapad rests on the bed that must be Rex’s, and it blinks with a notification from Marshal Commander Cody.

A transfer request.

“You’re leaving,” Anakin’s voice echoes through the empty room.

Rex flinches. His hands stall only for a minute before he zips up the bag and turns around. “I thought it would be best,” He says, “I have a… conflict of interest.” He won’t meet Anakin’s eyes.

Anakin’s heart shatters into a million pieces, “Please, don’t.”

“General-” 

Anakin makes a wounded sound at the title. He hates it when Rex falls back into the formal way of speaking to him. It’s not right. Rex should never have to call him _that._

“Please, don’t,” Anakin says again, two seconds away from outright begging. “I’m not good with words, not like Obi-Wan or- or anyone. But, I don’t want you to go,” He feels his throat get tight, a thousand times worse than how it feels when Ventress uses the Force to cut off his airway. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

Rex looks down at the bag in his hands and back up at Anakin, and Anakin feels just an ounce of hope well up in his chest before it gets crushed as Rex slings the bag over his shoulder, “You’ll get another captain, sir,” He assures Anakin, like _that’s_ why Anakin doesn’t want him to leave. 

“I don’t want another captain!” _Force_ , Anakin just wants to grab Rex by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. “Rex, I don’t want another captain, I just want you.” 

Rex’s face twists like he’s in pain before his posture snaps ramrod straight and he raises his hand in a sharp salute. “Permission to be excused?” He asks, and Anakin is suddenly thrown into the past, when Rex said those same words to him the first time they met.

_“What?” Anakin had said, however many cycles ago when he wasn’t jaded by war and death, “Yeah, sure. You don’t… you don’t have to ask permission. You never have to ask permission.”_

“No.” Anakin refuses, hysteria creeping into his voice, “No, permission denied. We need to talk about this.” 

Rex’s hand starts to lower, “Sir-”

Anakin rakes a hand through his hair, “Drop the formalities, Rex!” He cries, eyes misting up with unshed tears. “You… I…” The hand in his hair drags down his face, leaving harsh red lines that he immediately regrets. “Rex, I’m going to kiss you now.” 

_“What?”_ The sound that leaves Rex’s throat isn’t elegant in the least bit. The bag falls off his shoulder and lands with a _thwump_.

Anakin steps closer, hand extending just enough to graze his fingers across the back of Rex’s hand, “Permission to kiss you, Rex?” 

“Perm-permission granted.” Rex’s fingers tangle with Anakin’s and it feels like coming home.

Anakin lunges forward, all too much eagerness and not enough coordination. Teeth clash painfully and snag on lips, and it’s not at all sweet and gentle like Anakin imagined their first kiss to be.

They both jerk back, twin groans leaving them before they dissolve into laughter. 

_I think I could watch that all day,_ Anakin thinks to himself as he watches Rex.

Rex’s smile, an actually one that shows off his teeth, is a thing to behold. Anakin wants to press his thumbs into the dimples ( _dimples!!!)_ that indent his cheeks.

“Can I try that again?” Anakin whispers as though speaking too loudly will disrupt the moment.

Rex nods, eyes fluttering shut and leaning forward to press his forehead against Anakin’s, “I think you should,” he agrees.

Anakin slides a hand up to cradle the back of Rex’s hand, fingers threading through the hair that has grown just slightly out of the normal buzzcut, and pulling him back in for another kiss. 

It’s chaste, but sweet and soft and _perfect._ There are no cliche fireworks like the cheesy romance novels Anakin won’t admit he reads to anyone but Padmé. But Anakin doesn’t need fireworks. He just needs Rex.

“Sleep in the barracks tonight,” Rex murmurs, forehead resting against Anakin’s again - and Anakin thinks he likes that almost as much as he likes kissing. Almost.

“I thought you said you only did that after tough campaigns,” Anakin breathes into the space between them, even though he’s a second away from agreeing.

Rex’s hand slides Anakin’s waist to thread through Anakin’s hair, a mirror of Anakin’s hand in his. “We can make an exception just this once.”

_“Yes,”_ Anakin whispers before dipping back down to recapture Rex’s lips.

~

Sleeping in the barracks is… better than Anakin can even imagine. The white noise of sleepy conversation and the shifting of bodies is all around him, along with the occasional snore. Most definitely, the best part is the way that Rex is plastered against his body, half on top of him in the most wonderful way. His weight, composed of just about all muscle, is a grounding sensation that silences the dragon in his chest like never before. 

There’s a shiny on Anakin’s other side that had claimed him almost immediately, whose feet press into Anakin’s calves, but Anakin doesn’t mind at all. 

He presses a kiss to Rex’s forehead and smiles at the way Rex burrows his head just a bit deeper into his chest. (He ignores the snicker he hears from Fives’ direction.)

Anakin wakes up in a completely different position. His face is pressed snug into Rex’s stomach, who has found himself slung across Kix somehow. 

“Morning,” Anakin says into the hard muscle he’s pressed against.

Rex groans and shifts enough to be level with Anakin, “Morning,” he responds and leans in for the first of, hopefully, many early morning kisses.

Anakin presses into the kiss just as eagerly before jerking away, “You have morning breath,” he whispers, stifling a yawn as best he can.

Rex hums, pulling Anakin back into his chest, “Is that going to be a rule now? No kissing until teeth are brushed?” His eyes are already closed again.

An airborne pillow smacking Anakin in the face cuts off any response.

“Give it a _rest,”_ someone complains, and a chorus of sleepy agreements echo through the room, “Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

Anakin grins.

The pillow is immediately snatched up by someone to Anakin’s left, not that he minds very much. 

Anakin has his own pillow, thank you very much, and it’s much better than anything the GAR can issue, or even any top of the line pillow product. 

Rex drops a kiss to Anakin’s forehead before murmuring a quiet _goodnight._

Yeah, this pillow is much better than anything else he can think of.

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall! I swear to god i've been writing this for what feels like forever but I finally finished at like one in the morning  
> any mistakes are my own, if anything is super fucked up let me know and i'll fix it :)  
> thank you all for reading! comments are much appreciated   
> you can find me on tumblr at darth-clone <3 <3 <3


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